The Search For Scott
by HalloweenJack138
Summary: Face front, True Believers! It's another farflung future thriller in the hallowed HalloweenJack138 manner! Thrill as Jim and Dwight search for their longlost leader Michael... but be warned, not everyone will get out of this adventure alive!


"So, you see, children," Miss. Bolthouse told her Kindergarten class, "when you grow up, you can do whatever you want with you life."

See saw a small hand go up in the back.

"Yes, Dwight," she acknowledged.

"I want to kill God," the young boy said without a trace of humor.

"Um, well..." Miss Bolthouse stammered.

**The Office.  
**

Michael look across the room at each of his employees with a warmth that couldn't help but make the whole room feel awkward.

"Now, I thought we'd start by going around the room and introducing ourselves... but to keep things interesting, let's also tell everyone our favorite sexual position," Michael kept his tone casual, as though he was unaware he'd already said enough to get himself fired. "I will start. Michael Scott: Huckle Buckle."

Predictably, Dwight was the first to raise to his feet. "Dwight Schrute: Hot Karl."

Then, feeling the icy-hot stare on his back he swiftly amended. "I mean, Missionary."

The hairs on the back of his neck began to raise as the stare's intensity only increased.

"I mean... I do not feel comfortable divulging intimate secrets in the workplace."

Across the room, a heartless smile froze into place.

**Episode 2.05**

Slowly, Dwight slid the ring on to her finger, treasuring the purity of the moment.

"With this ring..." he said, feeling the eyes of her family, his LazerTag team, and those lucky few coworkers they deemed worthy of being called invited upon him.

"...with this ring I..." His voice caught in this throat, but he couldn't let anything stop him now, to regain his focus, he fixed his eyes on the DC Comics logo engraved on the ring.

"...With this ring I both wed you and induct you as an honorary member of the Green Lantern Corps."

**The Search For Scott**

Dwight peered over the edge of the roof, drinking in the wet, gray desolation below him. All was silent, he was truly alone.

"The bombs have fallen, the wars have been fought, and I, Dwight Schrute, am the sole survivor of the Final Days. I alone remain of the once great civilization that walked these lands; a final, shining beacon of humanity in a world now dominated by zombies, genetic mutants, and vampire cockroaches." He shook his head mournfully. "I always knew this day would come and now that has I'm just too happy to put into words..."

"Then can I suggest a big musical number," Jim interrupted.

Dwight jumped back.

"I thought you stopped narrating on roofs after you fell off of that Denny's," Jim asked between choruses of "Magic Dance."

Dwight eyed his coworker coldly. They years had not been kind to Jim; while Dwight had maintained his Greco-Roman god-like features (sacrificing a bit more hair along the way), Jim had gained several pounds of paunch and was marked by a slight graying at the temples... his appearance left Dwight frankly disgusted. "That was a freak accident," Dwight explained, "this roof has far superior safety precautions in place."

Jim nodded, but Dwight could tell he didn't mean it. "George sent my to find you," Jim explained. "I guess he wants to see both of us."

And, at the sound of his master's name, Dwight was off and running.

----

As they passed through the office, Jim gave a polite wave to Ben in accounting and a smile to Julie behind the reception desk. In the time since the documentary crew had left, pretty much the entire staff had moved on to bigger things... except for Dwight and himself.

Dwight had been left behind for obvious reasons, while Jim had been forever condemned by the glowing letter of recommendation Michael had left for him. Jim had asked him not to, but somehow that letter was always ten steps ahead of him, no matter where he went. And even though the documentary itself had been abject failure and Jim himself completely unknown after its release, somehow everyone knew the name Michael Gary Scott.

"Ah, my two best salesmen," George greeted them with an exuberance that was at once boyishly energetic and totally professional, "please come in."

George Takashima was everything Michael was not: competent, tan, athletic, dedicated... and while Michael's romantic conquests had been few and as far between as the stars in the sky, in the four weeks since George had come to Scranton, he had already been seen with a hearty handful of lovers, all of them younger, all of them unspeakably beautiful, all of them named Dennis, for some reason.

"Please take a seat," George said, smiling down at his employees (despite being noticeably shorter than both of them) beneficently.

Jim was always put somewhat ill at ease by the vintage firearms and fencing swords George chose to decorate his office with, but Dwight felt just the opposite. "Is that a new blade, sensei?" Dwight cooed like a short-shorts-wearing child sidekick in an old film serial.

"Yes, indeed," George confirmed, "Seventh century, French."

Dwight eyed the blade with open lust.

"...And please stop calling me 'sensei,'" George beamed.

Dwight gave an honorific bow. "My apologies."

George sighed, an action which took neither sound nor movement of any kind. It was an easy thing to miss. "I called the two of you here because of your closeness to my predecessor," he explained. "There are some notes he's left behind that I simply can't decipher."

He held out a few pages and Jim gave them a brief examination. They looked as though they'd been hand-written by a three year old... which is to say the were clearly Michael's work. As to what the pages contained... they could have been anything from customer notes to shipping orders to drafts of Michael's "Jabberjaw: the Motion Picture" script for all Jim could tell.

"What would you have us do, my master?" Dwight asked, bowing low. "Only say the word and we will lay down our lives."

"No, that won't be necessary this time either, Dwight," George calmly replied. "I really just want you to find Michael for me."

Dwight bowed again. "Your will his our command, my master," he declared, "you need only speak and it will be done."

In yet another of the countless 138 Moments in his life, Jim took a moment to ask himself how he came to live a life like this: how was he still at his "just until I find something" job? How had he and Dwight been through three divorces between the two of them, but never managed to sever their link to each other? How had Kim Kardashian become the Governor of California?

This was indeed a low point in his less-than-spectacular existence.

"I know Michael hasn't exactly been easy to locate lately," George admitted. "But I have complete faith in the two of you."

Again, Dwight collapsed to the ground. "I have sworn fealty to you. I shall not fail," he promised.

George looked cautiously towards Jim.

"We'll give it a shot," Jim promised.

"Thank you," George said crisply.

"_So it begins_," Dwight rasped.

The other two men both looked towards each other.

**----**

Rainn Wison stands before a vaguely painted backdrop in a sweater and jeans.

Rainn: Remember, there are some things that might seem like a good idea at the time, but you'll only regret in the morning.

Pause.

Rainn: Like putting pizza in the refrigerator.

**The More You Know... **


End file.
